


tightrope love (to make a glass shard family)

by tumbling_into_chaos



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Chinen Miya Being a Little Shit, Chinen Miya Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, False Identity, Found Family, How Do I Tag, M/M, Minor Character Death, Miscommunication, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secrets, Strangers to Lovers, and probably Kojiro, cherry needs a hug too tbh, how is that not a tag?, is it miscommunication if they don't communicate at all?, it's 4am i should be sleeping someone stop me, well one assassin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-21 14:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30022845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumbling_into_chaos/pseuds/tumbling_into_chaos
Summary: Cherry Blossom has been an assassin for the better part of his life, and as such he has become quite apt at building towers of lies.Enter Nanjo Kojiro - A high level target, a cook, and a walking contradiction. The more time Cherry spents around him the more he wants to tear down his towers and tell Kojiro the truth, even when he still can't figure out the man's own secrets.Also, what's up with the child constantly hanging out at the restaurant, looking like he is waiting for a chance to fight the world?(Cherry is not going to teach him skateboarding tricks. He isnot.)Or: The Asssassin AU that someone did actually ask for. Lots of Matchablossom feelings and Miya being (inofficially) adopted. Also somehow, they're still skating.
Relationships: Nanjo Kojiro | Joe/Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	tightrope love (to make a glass shard family)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to (for some reason tumblr resets the html every time I edit it, so the link won't open in a seperat tab. if someone knows how to fix this, please let me know) [@t-mulxifandom](https://t-mulxifandom.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for suggesting this idea. Hope I can do it justice!  
> (Seriously though, Matchablossom is consuming my brain, there is nothing else going on in that head of mine anymore. And I need them to adopt Miya, please. If not in canon, then at least in fanfiction.)  
> Constructive criticism is, of course, always welcome.  
> Hope you enjoy.

He didn't allow his breath to stutter or his muscles to tighten, even as he paused in his pursuit.

Cherry Blossom had been in this game too long to show weakness but there was nothing he could do against the skipping of his heartbeat, against the shivers running down his back and the sour taste in his mouth. His throat was dry as desert sand.

Something about the darkness of the alley felt too heavy, too real, filling his lungs and suffocating him. I would stuff his mouth and bleed out of his eyes if he took another step, every shadow full of threats and promises of pain, every corner another grave.

It was getting worse, then.

He forced himself to breathe through the clocked feeling in his throat, as deep as he dared, and as slowly as he managed without rattling.

In his nightmares the darkness would rise up to meet him and swallow him whole.

This was not a nightmare and that thought somehow made it worse.

His heartbeat picked up and his hands curled to fists. He forced himself to unclench them. Sweat was running down his back and face, the cold turned freezing in the spring-time night air, the fabric of his clothing too thin to offer protection.

And still, there was no helping it.

His target had left his field of vision by now and he would have to hurry to catch up, or else the entire evening would've been for naught; cold air and nightmare fuelled panic couldn't change that.

So Cherry fought back the nausea and the shivers and took a step into the alley. Paused - he couldn't help it, the way his breath seemed to halt and his head swam.

But seconds passed and nothing happened, even though the walls closed in on him. He forced another step, ignored the darkness growing darker, his breath going more ragged. Another step, loose clothing too tight against his skin, scratching and itching where he knew it shouldn't. Another step, his hands shaking, palms clammy. One more and then he broke into a run, his steps light and inaudible over the frantic beating of his heart. His movements were precise - were _always_ precise, and he found himself falling into a rhythm, smooth and practised, even as his hands continued shaking and his breath kept halting.

He skidded around the corner, just in time to catch the dull thud of feet hitting concrete, to see a silhouette advancing on his target, knife glinting even in the darkness of the alley.

For the fraction of a second everything seemed to still. Cherry shifted, pulled back his shoulders and curled his hand around the hilt of the blade attached to his belt. His vision tunnelled, all but the stranger shifting out of focus.

He was going to have to fight, and the knowledge settled in his bones, calmed his breath and slowed his heart, replaced faint memories of nightmares with cold determination. His lips curled into a smile, and he watched the stranger; his stance was off, favouring the left leg, his hold on the weapon sluggish. An amateur.

Cherry unsheathed his blade, the sharp sound of metal on metal cutting through the night air, and his smile widened.

Then he leapt.

His blade hit concrete, and the impact reverberated through his bones, made him bite back a curse and loosened his grip on the weapon.

He sprang back, quick as the shock allowed. His fingers ached, and the smile vanished off his face. His opponent had whirled out of the way faster than Cherry would have thought him capable of; this would be less of a game then, and more of a true contest.

He shifted his stance, adjusted his grip, would've bared his teeth in show hadn't it been for the mask hiding his face. Let his gaze rake over his opponent again, note the way he kept to the balls of his feet now, balanced out so that his limp was nigh invisible. Noted the way his opponent was looking at him too, with narrowed eyes and his face set in a frown.

An amateur, maybe, but one that had been well-trained.

He almost expected the other man to suggest a split bounty, or a shared job, but no such offer was forthcoming, just pushed-back shoulders and a set jaw, and “Fuck off,” hissed more than spoken, the stranger's voice too hoarse to be healthy.

Cherry gave no visible reaction, kept his weapon steady and his mouth set in a grim line, and then his opponent was charging him, forcing him to stumble backwards, catch his footing just in time to parry the next attack, to thrust out his sword and aim for his opponent's stomache, putting all his strength behind the blow but too little speed, and again the stranger evaded.

The fight seemed to get quicker and quicker after that, his opponent's blows brief but powerful, his own dodged with jumps and strides like dances.

They were both panting, his opponents gasps loud in his ears whenever he got too close, his own sword's hilt slick with sweat, and Cherry had to step back once more.

Blood was rushing in his ears, and just for moment, a singular second, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, a shadow shifting.

That distraction proved fatal.

The stranger was in his space now, slashing and stabbing empty air where Cherry leapt out of the way and had to strain his muscles to escape the rapid-fire attacks.

Something moved again, in the shadows and he whirled with his next step, met their target's gaze, saw the man moving closer with slow almost jerky steps, but inevitably towards them, and Cherry cursed.

He couldn't use the distraction, needed the man to keep out of the fight, and with his next step he whirled around, swang his sword close enough to the target to frighten, but not close enough to touch. The target's eyes widened, his steps froze, and Cherry took one more half-hearted swipe in his direction.

Then a blinding pain.

His gaze flickered to his side, to the knife buried deep in soft flesh, sliced through protective layers and leaving red stains, his heart pounding too loud, drowning out his thoughts.

His opponent's nimble hands pulled at the weapon, and that hurt 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦, and he gasped, audibly, fought back a flinch and fought back the urge to curl up, to protect the wound with his arms and body.

Blood was running down his side, wet and sticky, even as the adrenaline numbed the pain, even as he could feel his grip tightening, his muscles clenching.

His opponent's next swipe missed, but Cherry knew he had to bring the fight to a close, fast. He was gasping, his heart beating furiously, and the blood loss would soon leave him dizzy and off balance.

His movements were slower too, and with the next attack his opponent's knife grazed his shoulder, and his feet caught, and he had to dodge under the next swipe, pain shooting up from the wound in his side.

Damn it. His sword was useless at such short range and weaponless he'd have no chance against an armed opponent.

He escaped the next attack by mere inches, jumped back, then nearly doubled over in pain when he landed.

And somehow, miraculously, that brief weakness was not exploited.

His side stung, and his heart raced and he stumbled back further even as he straightened once more, only to find himself staring into clear brown eyes, wide and unsure, and carefully tracking his movements. Clear brown eyes, and strong arms wrapped around his opponent from behind, trapping him in a hold that stopped any movement.

Except - Except his opponent should have been struggling, and cursing, not holding perfectly still, one hand clenched around his knife and slowly moving towards -

Cherry jumped forward, sword raised, and his blade slashed across the stranger's throat, tore through the skin and the muscles beneath like they were butter. Blood splattered. The target's eyes went even wider, his hold on the stranger loosened. The target stumbled backwards, opened his mouth as though to speak but didn't make a single sound.

The body slipped to the floor, hitting the ground with a dull smacking sound, more blood splattering and then pooling around it.

The man had tried to steal his bounty and had paid with his life for that, and Cherry's lips twisted into a smile, a dark glint in his eyes. _Good_.

Cherry let his gaze wander from the lifeless body at his feet and study his target.

The target's face had turned pale, blood splattered over his cheek and clothing, his breathing quicker and more frantic than Cherry's. He stumbled back another step or two, staring at Cherry all the while, his whole body shaking.

“Are you -” His voice was shaking too, higher than Cherry had expected but that could be the shock. The target swallowed, voice just as shaky afterwards, almost faint. “Are you going to kill me too?"

Cherry stared at the man a moment longer, titled his head, then shook it.

At that all tension seemed to leave the target at once. His shoulder slumped, and his breath stuttered. His legs gave out beneath him, and Cherry watched him collapse against the alley's cold brick wall, cover his face in his hands.

“Thank god,” he mumbled. Then a second time, “thank god", and his voice swam with tears.

Cherry scoffed. This was pathetic; he almost wished he had the moral backbone - or lack thereof - to kill indiscriminately. 

He threw another look at the man, still leaning against the wall, breathing frantically and shaking like a leaf in the wind. A sorry sight, but not one Cherry had much time to dwell on.

He would crash soon too, left weak and shivering by a sudden lack of adrenaline, his clothes and skin still coated in dry blood, the stab wound smarting and running the risk of infection.

He shifted, gritted his teeth against the sharp sting radiating from his side and curled one arm around his abdomen, the other holding his still unsheathed sword. Then he turned to retreat, as swiftly as his injury would allow.

“Wait.” His target's voice was raspy, and so quiet he almost didn't hear him.

Cherry froze.

“Who are you?"

What a stupid question.

He resumed his retreat without a word, and the target didn't call out again. Cherry's legs were growing heavier with every step, and as soon as he had rounded a corner he broke into a run, intent of reaching his safe house before the inevitable breakdown.

He would return to shadow his target on another day - Tomorrow, if he was lucky and the wound didn't act up. Get some information out of the guy, gather more intel. 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺 him, as much as he was able.

Because Cherry Blossom was one of the best at the job, and one of the most selective.

If he was going to murder Nanjo Kojiro, then he would damn well know why.

**Author's Note:**

> Does it help if I promise Chapter 2 will be better? Fight scenes are not my fortune.


End file.
